


It Isn't the Heart of a Star or the Complicated Mechanism of a Galaxy - It's Better

by Lord_Twinkle



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley creates, Fallen Angel Crowley (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Supportive Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-05-31 03:28:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19417558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Twinkle/pseuds/Lord_Twinkle
Summary: Crowley deals with his post-not-apocalypse feelings by building a house.I have no idea what I'm doing.





	It Isn't the Heart of a Star or the Complicated Mechanism of a Galaxy - It's Better

Months after the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Crowley is still struggling.

He needs to keep busy, needs to keep his thoughts in check. His mind can be a frustrating and terrible place when it is idle. He keeps finding it wondering back to the burning bookshop, to the overwhelming pain that overtook him when he thought Aziraphale had been taken from him.

_Aziraphale is safe_ , he keeps telling himself. Everyone is. He knows this. But the thoughts still come and they send him spiralling. 

He keeps waiting for the sky to fall. It never comes.

He tries everything: booze, messing with humans, driving his Bentley **well** over the speed limit, annoying Aziraphale. _Everything_. Nothing will do. His mind still gnaws at feelings he has trouble pinning down. Guilt? Abandonment? That tiny four letter word he's been trying to exorcise from his heart for millennia? Who knows! Demons aren't supposed to possess any of these anyway.

Aziraphale has tried to get him to talk about what is bothering him, but the wily Serpent of Eden has lost his clever tongue. Crowley cannot tell his angel. What if he starts unravelling? Uncovering 6000 years and more of... of _feelings_ , and the angel leaves him again? He can't have that. He keeps it all trapped in the soft corners of his golden eyes. Aziraphale thinks it might kill him. He tries something else. 

He takes Crowley to his empty property in South Downs. He has owned the land for... well longer than he cares to remember. He always meant to do something with it, but never got around to figuring out what.

"It's yours," he tells Crowley, matter of factly. 

"Mine? What the fuck am I supposed to do with a heap of dirt, Angel?" Crowley grumbles, kicking at a rock.

"Oh well... I don't know, my dear. But, won't it be delightful to find out?" he says with a gentle smile.

~~///~~

Dawn slowly crept behind him. Birds were chirping happily. Crickets flexed their legs, preparing to serenade the long warm day. Crowley took in a lungful of the cool, sweet air, still full of the morning dew. 

It's annoyingly peaceful in these parts. He'll have to do something about that... Later.

He squares his shoulders, picks up his tools and puts himself to work.

It has been a very long time since he has used his own hands to make something. And, honestly? He isn't sure he still can.

Before the Fall, he had held all the matter of the universe at his fingertips. He had worked in concert with his brethren to organize chaos into works of art. He had been the architect to planets and stars and nebulas. Giving life...

That was then. This is now.

His imagination still runs wild of course. But he usually gets humans to do the dirty work of making.

As he stands on the plot of land, he tries to find the spark of creation that had once made him feel so whole. He wonders if it has left him just as Her Grace did.

There is only one way to find out. For the first time in millennia, he's going to make something.

He is going to build a house.

There is fear. There is always fear deep in Crowley's stomach. But there is also that blighted slither of hope he begs himself not to acknowledge. If he fails, this is what will finally destroy him.

But, the plans are all drawn up in his mind – if he can still execute, it will be beautiful. He imagines a large room on one side for Aziraphale's library and an exit on the other where he can put up a greenhouse. He imagines these spaces connected at the center by a common living room and a sizeable kitchen. He imagines long nights spent drinking and laughing with his angel in a dining room with a long table that sits at least eight people, in case any of their mortal friends ever visit. He imagines a bedroom where he can finally rest, his angel in his arms. It isn't the heart of a star or the complicated mechanisms of a galaxy, but it would be _theirs_. A house for Aziraphale and him. Somewhere to feel safe.

~~///~~

By mid-day, with the help of a few miracles, he has dug the foundations and is now slowly edifying it with stones. Aziraphale brings refreshments and lunch. The demon doesn't even notice his presence. The angel doesn't think he has ever seen him so hell-bent on something. His sleeves are rolled up, jacket long forgotten, dirt all over him, his hair totally out of place. The demon has never moved with such purpose, not even when he was conspiring to build the M25.

This was different. Crowley had always been single-minded and confident in the way to achieve his visions, but there was no mischief here. His hands picked up every stone like he knew exactly their place in the small universe he was creating, and placed them carefully against one another with... with – what was it? Yes, Aziraphale could feel it even in the mere foundation, the mere idea that was taking shape: Crowley was pouring so much Love into this house.

The angel wondered if Crowley had always built this way. Wondered if humans looked up at the night sky with so much fondness because they could still feel how much love and reverence his brilliant demon had once wielded into it. He decided he liked this side of Crowley and devised ways he could coax it out more often. But that was for later. For now, they had a picnic.

~~///~~

Well into autumn, the frame was complete and Crowley could start putting up walls. He had not left the patch of land since he had begun the previous summer. He took rests and naps in a small shack he had miracled at the back. He had decided he would use it as a tool shed when he got the garden going next summer. The vivid image of Aziraphale reading on a back porch while he bent plants to submission invaded his mind. The thought made him smile fondly. Although, he would never publicly admit to that.

His hair had grown longer and scruff had build on his chin – the only evidence of time running its course. He could not stop himself. It was like something had awoken in him. Something he had shoved away callously so it wouldn't surface to remind him of times passed. But now, it was on the loose and it would not stop until it had been satisfied. So, he poured millennia worth of longing and pent up creativity into this project, and hoped it would not drive him insane.

After a while, he had stopped using miracles, trusting his hands and his own mind to produce their finest work. It still went faster than any human could have done: he was a supernatural entity after all.

Aziraphale would have been concerned if it hadn't been for the light that burned so bright in the demon's eyes. It was something he had seen before – eyes in the times of revelations.

~~///~~

Winter was unforgivably cold that year. Like it was taking revenge for events that did not occur. But that did not stop the demon. Neither Heaven nor Hell could have stopped Anthony J. Crowley now. Of course, it helped that his being ran on hellfire.

It was cathartic bending matter to his will once again. He had forgotten how good it felt to shape something. He hadn't lost it. His imagination, his creativity, his ability to execute – that was him. Not a gift from God, but his own skill. If Crowley had been honest with himself, he would have found that he was relieved. But Crowley was almost never honest.

For the first time since his Fall, Crowley felt the shadow of himself. And perhaps, reluctantly, a slither of peace made its way into the demon's heart. It tentatively, tenderly made roots until they were strong enough to start making their own home in the demon's chest.

The weather grew warmer.

~~///~~

Before he knew it, Spring curled lazily around him.

It was done.

And it was marvellous.

Crowley guided a blindfolded Aziraphale through what he could only assume was the cobblestone path leading to their house. _Their house_ , he thought. An impossibly tender smile spread on his face.

It smelled of freshly churned earth and new wood. And it felt old. Not in its conception, but old in soul. Like it had already gone through lifetimes of owners who had cherished it with all their hearts.

They stepped through the front door and Crowley whispered “Ready?” in the angel's ear before taking the blindfold off and holding his breath for Aziraphale's reaction.

The angel's eyes went round.

The house was bright and open with huge windows that would allow light in, no matter the time of the day. It was all wooden and Crowley had carved the archways and parts of the ceiling into patterns reminiscent of the cathedrals Aziraphale so enjoyed.

Crowley took his hand and slowly guided him to the room that would most interest him. The library was round, two stories high, with a big stone fire place and shelves built into the walls. The roof had a skylight that let a gentle glow permeate the whole room. Aziraphale stepped into the room to take it all in. No one had ever done anything this nice for him. Except Crowley, he reminded himself. He didn't like to be called 'nice', but these small gestures that Crowley had performed over and over again for no particular reason spoke of all the things he knew Crowley couldn't say.

“All that's missing now is your books and maybe that horribly old couch your so fond of,” came Crowley's soft tone.

When Aziraphale turned to him, he saw his demon standing in the doorway, one hand tucked deep in his pockets and the other worrying the back of his neck, his shades crunched up high on his nose. He was nervous Aziraphale realized. Oh but didn't he know how incredible this was? The angel approached and coaxed his hands in his own, tangling his soft fingers with Crowley's, rugged by months of manual labour.

“You wonderful creature... It's perfect Crowley.”

A small blush spread on the demons face.

“So, you like it, then?”

“Oh my dear boy... of course I like it. How could I not love something you've made?”

Crowley beamed at the praise, his ears, following the rest of his face, turning the loveliest shade of pink.

Aziraphale couldn't resist. He let go of Crowley's hands in favour of cupping his face. Crowley's eyebrows crept up and up and up until there was nowhere else to go. He looked into Aziraphale's eyes for a moment and was surprised to find eagerness and desire in them.

"I think I'm going to kiss you now, if you don't mind my dear," said the angel, a little breathless. 

Crowley made a small wincing sound, but gave a quick nod. Aziraphale waisted no more time - he leaned in and finally, _finally_ , kissed him. Crowley's arms crawled their way around the angels waist, running on his back, letting himself be kissed, opening his mouth to let Aziraphale in. Oh and he desperately wanted to let Aziraphale in - every part of him yearned for Aziraphale's proximity: in this house, in every waking hour, in his heart. He didn't think he could bare the yearn he had so foolishly ignored for so long anymore. He parted from the angel, golden meeting blue.

"Angel? Shit..." he didn't know how to make grand declarations, so he hoped this would suffice. "Angel, I love you. I fucking love you. You know that, right?" 

Aziraphale froze, aghast. A slow, tender smile spread on his face, making his eyes crinkle in that way that made Crowley lose his mind. 

"I had my suspicions," his eyes had gone a little misty, "But it's lovely to hear it." 

He recovered a little before answering: "I love you too." 

A flicker of delight and disbelief touched Crowley's eyes. 

"Really? Will you stay here, then? With me?" 

"I wouldn't have it any other way." 

He gazed at Crowley fondly and kissed him again, relishing in the fact that they would be able to do this as often as they wished from now on. 

Yes. They would be happy here.


End file.
